


Maedhros Finds A Reader

by Himring



Series: Gloom, Doom and Maedhros [91]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Easterlings, Gen, History, M/M, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 07:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6365278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himring/pseuds/Himring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maedhros has recently been re-embodied  after a very long time in Mandos and is living in Fingon's household in Tirion. During a temporary absence of Fingon's, he has been pursuing a writing project. At this point, he makes the closer acquaintance of a member of Fingon's household.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maedhros Finds A Reader

**Author's Note:**

> Some use of Quenya names: mainly "Findekano" for Fingon; also Nolofinwe=Fingolfin; Nelyafinwe Maitimo=Maedhros.
> 
> Also, I am using the word "porter" in a sense that is predominantly British: someone in charge of watching over the entrance of a large building.

In the lovingly furnished study, Maedhros sat at his desk, staring at the empty page in front of him. Abruptly he began to write, but before he had quite finished recording a snatch of conversation that had taken place ages past, he paused, chose another leaf from the pile and wrote down a fragment of a song, stopped again, mid-verse, put both leaves aside, picked up a third and began a detailed description of a marriage custom. After a few sentences he stopped again and sat, staring blankly into the middle distance.

He sighed, wiped the nib of his pen and put it down. This was no use at all, he might as well give in, go down and hover by the gate. 

 

Elsewhere in the household, there was a bustle of ongoing preparation, but the front lodge had been very quiet for the last couple of hours. I had spent them on the bench with my book, moving a little along occasionally to stay in the sunny spot as it shifted. As I read, I kept listening for the sound of movement outside in the street. There was none as yet, except for the occasional people going about their business, passing by without stopping.

But eventually, a soft sound came from the other direction, from inside. I looked up and saw a familiar tall figure, much closer than I had thought. His approach had been so silent that it had almost escaped my vigilance. I hastily shut my book and dropped it on the bench.

'My lord!' I hesitated, unprepared for this situation. 'My lord, are you planning to go out? Shall I summon an escort for you?'

Oh, please let me summon a guard or two, I thought--probably you would be quite safe out there, but I really would not want to face my lord Findekano if I let you go without them and anything bad happened...

He shook his head. 'Thank you, but no need to trouble yourself, Porter. I have no intention of going out.'

Ah. He had merely come to inquire. I suppressed a sigh of relief. 

'I am afraid there is no sign of Lord Findekano as yet. I was told he would be arriving some time in the afternoon, but I was given no more details than that and there has been no further news, has there?'

'Yes,' he said, agreeing. 'No further news. Thank you very much, Porter.' 

But instead of turning on his heel and going back inside, as I had expected, he just stood, looking at the gate.

'I suppose he could not quite predict how long it would take him up the Calacirya,' I said. 'And there could have been quite an amount of traffic to get through--there always seems to be some kind of market or other going on in some part of Tirion, on any given day.'

'Yes, I am sure you are right', he agreed again, politely, not moving.

How awkward, I realized. He did not want information or reassurance. He had simply come here to wait for Lord Findekano and I was being clumsy, somehow drawing unwanted attention to that fact. I wished I could go away and leave him to it, but I couldn't--it was my job to stay by the gate, after all. The next best thing, I supposed, would be to open my book again and go on reading, but somehow I couldn't do that either, not while he was standing there.

I had been on duty when Lord Findekano brought him in, the first time, having picked him up in Lorien, and I had been all afire with curiosity, of course. It was part of the reason that I had applied for the job--the chance to see heroes and leading figures of the earlier Ages stride in and out, observing them discreetly and without drawing attention to myself. Truth to tell, I had glimpsed very little of Nelyafinwe Maitimo, that first time, and what I had seen had disappointed me, to my secret shame.

This pale, gangly shadow being gently nudged through the gate, wrapped in Lord Findekano's cloak and shielded almost entirely from my gaze--this was the legendary Prince Maedhros who loomed so much larger than life in the tales of the First Age, whether for good or for bad? Even the stray lock of hair that escaped from the cloak seemed less red than I had imagined it. But since then, Maedhros had gradually recovered and I had seen him passing in and out in the company of Lord Findekano. He had had no occasion to speak to me then, however, although he would nod in greeting as Lord Findekano hailed me.

I had failed to stop Lord Nolofinwe from entering the premises, that one time. Nobody had reproached me for it. Playing porter to my Lord Findekano was supposed to be a light duty--I had not signed up to defend the household from the onslaught of my lord's father, a warrior king that Morgoth himself had not found easy to fend off. Facing an irate Fingolfin had been a bit more of a taste of the First Age than I had bargained for and the fact that others of the household had crumbled as well, that day, was only a limited consolation. But to mention that event to Lord Maedhros, even if only to apologize to him for my failure, would have been the depth of indiscretion.

Our exchange just now, such as it was, was the first conversation with him I had had. It was already more than I had counted on ever having, despite the fact that I had been set to watch the door of the place in which he now lived.

Still to remain sitting while he stood was beginning to seem a little disrespectfuI, even though it was surprise that had stopped me from getting up right away. I cleared my throat. He glanced at me, distracted from his important business of waiting. I indicated the bench beside me.

'Would you, perhaps, like to sit?' 

Well done, I was offering him a seat on what was, to all intents and purposes, his own bench, no matter that nominally Lord Findekano held the sole legal title to the house! But he inclined his head and accepted.

'Thank you.'

I quickly moved aside to make more space and he lowered himself onto the bench. His legs really were very long. We sat for a moment in silence, looking at the gate. I could feel the tension in my back. 

Then he said: 'May I, perhaps, ask you a question about something that has been on my mind?'

'Yes, of course.' But what could someone like him possibly want to ask someone like me?

'Let me first explain the background of the question a bit, if you will,' he said. 'Returning to Tirion after such a long time, I made it my business to find out what had happened in the meantime, after my death, both here in Aman and in Middle-earth. Findekano had anticipated my need and supplied me with the necessary books. 

I found much to ponder there, much to rejoice or grieve over, but one thing in particular remained with me: the chronicles stated that, after the Fifth Battle and the War of Wrath, the Eldar took to distrusting all Men from the East and allied themselves by preference only with the Edain and their descendants, the Men of Numenor--as if all had been proved untrustworthy by Uldor's deeds and by the fate of Dor-lomin. 

There is little I can do now to mend wrongs done in ages past or to meet the failed obligations of my House. But it seemed to me that this was one thing I could undertake: I would take up the pen in defence of those of my allies who remained faithful and who did not deserve to be thus forgotten and perhaps, having recorded what I knew and learned of the tribe of Bor, I would find a few words even to say about the tribe of Ulfang, for their betrayal of us was not such a simple matter that nothing more could be said about them.'

I nodded to show I was following, so far.

'And so', Maedhros continued, 'I began writing and, as I wrote, more and more came to mind that seemed worth reporting--events large and small in the Marches of Beleriand and also Easterling lore that I learned from Bor and his kin. But as I went on writing, doubt came creeping in. I had not, at first, spent too much thought on how I would persuade anyone in Aman to read this screed of mine. Perhaps I had imagined the notoriety of my name would serve me there!'

His lips twitched. It wasn't exactly a smile.

'But now--each detail that I add seems to support what I am trying to prove: that the Easterlings of the First Age were as fascinating a people as any of the branches of the Quendi and far too complex to be all tarred with a single brushstroke. But nevertheless every detail I add makes the work by that much longer. It is not, by any measure, the pithy epistle I originally set out to write. I do not regret the time spent, but I have to ask myself: who in Valinor is going to want to read all this? It is ancient history indeed, by now. So many millennia have passed! Findekano at least has been reading my drafts, but he reads my words simply because I wrote them. I do not need to convince Findekano or, if I needed to convince him at all, he would need far fewer words, far less explanation.'

Maedhros leaned forward a little, pointing at the book beside me on the bench.

'You, I can see, are a reader.'

I blinked. He had taken notice of my reading, had he? And not simply taken it as a sign that I wasn't paying attention enough to my job?

'And I believe you were not even born until long after the Time of the Darkening, is that so?'

I nodded.

'Tell me,' said Maedhros, 'if I have not already reduced you to boredom with my long-winded explanation--tell me, if I finish my work, do you think anyone in Tirion will want to read what Maedhros Feanorion has to say about Easterlings?'

'I will,' I said.

'You will?'

He gave me a penetrating look. I felt my insides cringe a little. It does not come easy to any of us latter-day Noldor, looking those who have seen the Light of the Trees straight in the eyes. Maedhros guarded his eyes better than some; probably, he had learned to, in Beleriand. But I had surprised him, apparently, and his full gaze had an intensity that I found very difficult to bear.

Mutely, I picked up my book and showed him the title page, by way of proof. He took his gaze off my face--immediately, I breathed more easily--and read. It said: "Cultural Sidelights on the History of the First Age". 

I could have had a career as a historian at any of Tirion's academies, if I had not quickly established, by sad experience, that my temperament was completely unsuited to the requirements of teaching. I had decided to spare both the students and myself and remove myself from the pressure of the expectations of my colleagues as well, but I had not given up my interests.

Maedhros lifted his gaze to my face again, but before either of us could say anything, there was the sound of quick forceful steps outside. Determined to carry out my duties properly this time, I made a dash for the gate to open it for my Lord Findekano before he could impatiently thrust it open and barely succeeded.

Findekano entered and caught sight of Maedhros, who had risen from the bench to meet him. There was a moment of silence that was as eloquent as impassioned speech. It was clear that both of them had completely forgotten my presence--and that, of course, was exactly as it should be.

But it turned out that Maedhros hadn't forgotten my presence, not entirely. As he turned to follow my lord Findekano inside, he gave me a quick smile. He did not speak, but I knew, by that, that he would remember my promise to read his history of the Easterlings and that he would hold me to it.

The cousins walked quickly across the yard, through the front door and along a corridor, side-by-side. When Maedhros thought he had control of his voice again, he asked: 'How did things go then, in Tol Eressea?'

'All right,' said Fingon, in a completely uninterested tone.

He opened a door, pulled Maedhros through and straight into a hard embrace. Maedhros felt Fingon's hands ball into fists behind his neck. It had been too early to ask about Tol Eressea, he thought, he would ask again later.

'I missed you,' said Fingon.

It was only natural, Maedhros thought, that he himself should feel so jaggedly, painfully incomplete when Fingon was away, but he had thought a short break might even do Fingon good. Not that they had intentionally arranged it, either of them--they had merely decided, that it was too early after Maedhros's return for him to venture down into Telerin territory, without risking some kind of incident, diplomatic or other--and as the only route to Tol Eressea lay through Telerin territory, he had stayed behind when neglected business called Fingon urgently to the Lonely Isle. In any case, Maedhros was sure it was not good for Fingon to keep giving up everything else he had been doing to take care of him.

'Next time, I hope, I will be able to come with you,' he said, as he began to smoothing the tension out of Fingon's knotted back and shoulders.

What a luxury it was, really, he thought, to be permitted to miss each other so very fiercely, after such a relatively short separation, when in the past... No, he did not want to think about past separations just now.

Fingon relaxed with a sigh and stretched out against him. Behind Maedhros's neck, the fists uncurled.

'So how did the writing go, in the meantime?' Fingon asked, after a moment.

'Oh', said Maedhros. 'Findekano, I found myself a reader today!'

'You had one!' said Fingon.

'Another reader, besides you, I mean,' said Maedhros, giving him another hug. 'You had not told me your porter was an amateur historian! It should make the writing much easier, I think. I can think of her now when I am in doubt how to pitch my explanations...'

**Author's Note:**

> Maedhros's "History of the Easterlings" exists as the drabble series I wrote. But what Maedhros is writing in this story is clearly a much longer and more complete work than that.
> 
> The episode with Fingolfin alluded to occurs in "No Way You Can Fall".
> 
> B2MeM prompts: B2MeM 2016: Memories. B2MeM 2015: Middle Earth Market-place: Maedhros and His Various Non-Elven Allies (prompt by the-disposessed). B2MeM 2012 Bingo: Love in Middle-earth card: B10: Across all the ages of Arda; All OCs, All the Time card: G46: A servant


End file.
